


Fever

by bryoneybrynn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryoneybrynn/pseuds/bryoneybrynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Harry's in the grip of a strange fever...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeto/gifts).



> Written for the generous and patient zeto, with the prompts of _wicked_ and _fever_.
> 
> Warnings: Mild violence, implied angry hate!sex, swearing.
> 
> Beta: dysonrules
> 
> Disclaimer:: This is a work of fanfiction. Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, her publishers and associated movie studios. No profit was made from this work. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of 18.

Fever

The numbness sets in gradually during the weeks following Voldemort’s defeat. At first it is easy enough to explain away. After all, with all the funerals for lost friends, the ceremonies that set his teeth on edge, and his own slow recovery from his illness and malnutrition, surely it is normal to feel a little detached. Probably expected, even. But as spring drifts into summer and the days become long and hot, Harry still feels no different. If anything, he feels even more numb. Deadened.

Others notice, reach out to him, but nothing seems to help. Not the warmth of his friends; not the heat of Ginny’s kisses. When Ron and Hermione drag him out to “have some fun” at a pub or a party, he almost always ends up drunk and silent in a corner somewhere, often as not Apparating home despite his condition. When Ginny threatens to leave him if he doesn’t at least _try_ to talk about what is going on with him, he calls her bluff, tells her to go. He is surprised when she doesn’t come back in the days that follow, even more surprised when he doesn’t particularly care.

In September, he gets on the Hogwarts Express with everyone else. He moves through the familiar Hogwarts hallways, takes his place in Gryffindor Tower. He settles into the routine. He goes to his classes. Sometimes he takes notes. Often he just stares at the blackboard or out the window or doodles on the blank page in front of him. He does his homework most of the time but he isn’t particularly concerned about its quality. He eats. He sleeps. He sleeps a lot. Sleeping is one of the few things he still enjoys. He goes to bed hours before anyone else.

Life drifts along and Harry drifts with it.

But then one night, everything changes.

Harry jolts awake as though from a nightmare but if he was dreaming, he doesn’t remember it. There’s a faint buzzing in his ears; his skin feels prickly and he’s _hot_. So fucking hot. He feels like he can hardly breathe. He hasn’t felt hot like this since the Room of Requirement, since –

He throws back his blankets and tears open his bed hangings, trying to let some air into the stuffy cocoon of his bed. A breeze floats through but Harry barely feels it. He pulls off his t-shirt. It doesn’t help. He strips off his bottoms. He lies naked on his bed, not caring if the others see him. He tries a Cooling Charm, and even though his skin puckers in gooseflesh, he still feels as though he’s burning alive. 

He needs out. Out of his bed, out of the room, out of the castle. He needs to lie on the cool grass of the pitch and let the night air move across his skin. 

Harry yanks on his pyjama bottoms and goes.

Hogwarts at night carries its own memories, none of which are particularly pleasant. Harry makes his way down the staircases and through the halls as quickly as he can, impatient to be on the other side of the stone walls. He moves carelessly, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty corridors. 

Turning yet another corner, he sees a flash of blond hair, and he knows in an instant it’s Malfoy. He freezes. Malfoy. Part of Harry hopes that Malfoy won’t turn around, that he hasn’t heard him because he knows it won’t go well for either of them, not with this fever running through him. But a much larger part of him wants Malfoy to turn around for the exact same reason.

Harry’s wants, however, play no role in it. Malfoy did hear him, he does turn. His eyes find Harry’s and a sneer crosses his face, making Harry’s fingers curl into fists.

“Well, if it isn’t our hero?” Malfoy says with that same lazy drawl he’s had since first year, the one that makes Harry want to drive his fist through Malfoy’s teeth. “And where are you off to, Potter? Got a date with a groupie? Some little fourth-year desperate to suck off the Saviour of the Wizarding World?”

Harry decides to give him a warning, a chance. “Malfoy, don’t fuck with me. I’m in no mood for it tonight.”

“Oh, is the Golden Boy in a bit of a strop? Did someone not –”

That’s as far as he gets because then Harry is on him, spinning Malfoy around, pressing him hard against the wall. With one hand, he twists Malfoy’s right arm behind his back at an angle Harry is sure is excruciating. With the other, he presses Malfoy’s cheek into the stones. 

“What the fuck? Get off me, Potter, you lunatic!” Malfoy struggles against him but Harry has him fast. If Malfoy moves too much, he’ll only succeed in breaking his own arm.

“Shut your mouth. Shut your fucking mouth, Malfoy. Christ, what is the matter with you? Why can’t you ever just _not_ be a complete bastard?”

Malfoy smirks, even though it is half lost against the stones digging into his face. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me.”

Harry pushes Malfoy’s face harder into the wall. “Stop. Fucking. Talking.” 

A dull fury pulses through him. After everything, Malfoy is still a shit, still taunting him, still thinks he’s better than Harry. But he’s not. He’s not and Harry knows it and Malfoy fucking well knows it or he should. He _should_. He owes Harry a life debt. He owes Harry his _life_. He owes Harry too much to be here, now, flinging his little barbs and smirking and sneering. He owes Harry too fucking much.

Harry throws his weight against Malfoy’s back, gratified by the whoosh of air that leaves Malfoy’s lungs at the impact. 

Harry leans in close, growls in Malfoy’s ear, “I saved you. I saved your goddamn life twice. You owe me. You owe me, so just shut the fuck up.”

Malfoy begins to struggle in earnest, then, and Harry is confused by this sudden burst of frantic energy until he realises his cock is hard as stone and pushed up against Malfoy’s arse. Paired with his words, Malfoy’s panic begins to make sense. Surprised himself by his arousal, Harry backs off a bit, enough that Malfoy is able to turn around. He moves fast, but not fast enough that Harry doesn’t feel Malfoy’s cock, every bit as hard as his own, brush against his hip. 

Harry looks at Malfoy, sees the blush on his face even in the gloom of the darkened hall. “I always knew you were a twisted little shit.”

Malfoy’s blush deepens, but his lip curls in an attempt at disgust. “I’d say that’s a bit of pot and kettle, there, Potter.”

Harry studies Malfoy’s flushed cheeks and that curled lip, and he starts to feel even hotter, the fever in him ratcheting up until Harry thinks he’ll burst into flame. He begins to wonder if he’s under some sort of curse because he feels like he’s burning alive and he doesn’t even care. All he can think about is Malfoy’s lips stretching around his cock, how it would feel to push into that fucking dirty mouth until the head of his prick bumps the back of Malfoy’s throat.

Malfoy apparently doesn’t like the way Harry’s looking at him because his scowl deepens. “What the fuck are you staring at?”

Harry steps closer, his hand coming up, closing around Draco’s throat, and he’s sure the touch must be painful, his skin is so hot. “What did I tell you about talking?”

Malfoy glares. “Fuck you.”

Harry leans in so close their noses are almost touching. “I think I’d much rather fuck you. And I think you’d rather that, too.”

Then he lets go of Draco’s neck and steps back. The message is clear: _If you don’t want to be here, now is the time to go._ He knows Malfoy hates him for the gesture, for taking away his excuse. Without it, he could have pretended he was forced. But now they both know he is here because he _wants_ to be. 

Draco doesn’t move but his eyes are full of a hatred so hot, Harry wonders if maybe they both won’t burn up in it. Harry smirks and steps forward, pressing into Draco’s body once again, eager to fan the flames. 

 

♥


End file.
